Try And Fight

It wasn't a conscious decision. It arose from somewhere primal inside of Lois Lane. When her ancestors had been pushed beyond fear, cornered by the wolf, the bear, the lion...when all that was at hand was a rock, a sharp stick, of their own teeth. When there was nowhere left to run, and no hope left of making it out alive. When the violet eyes glimmered liked amethyst, hard and cold, determined to take a piece of this apex predator with her, rather than die slow.

Lois Lane leaped on Blaze like a cornered rat striving to tear out a cat's throat.

Her shriek split the air as the naked, exhausted reporter leaped. Her thumbs stabbed into pure white sockets, her heels kicked mercilessly. A hundred and twenty pounds of raging reporter suddenly clung to the demon's head, and strong as she was, for a moment—for half a heartbeat—Blaze was off-balance.

The orgiasts fell back.

There was space enough to run.

Yet Lois Lane was beyond that now. Adrenaline pumped strength into her limbs. Stiff, aching thumbs crushed the burning eyes, nails scraping along the bony sockets. An obscene torrent of words burst from the reporter's throat, and she planted her feet against those tits, spiky bits stabbing into her soles as Lois bent her body like a bow, pulling at the demon's head.

Blaze wobbled. Her hands clasped the reporter, but Lois Lane hung on for dear life, twisting this way and that. They swirled around in circles, locked in a strange and terrible dance, tears of white fire burning down the demon's cheeks, the orgiasts moving back out of the way...

Until the demon's heel slipped over the lip of the pit.

Gravity took hold.

They fell together, tumbled down the glassy slope.

Hit the viscous grey-white surface.

Sank out of sight.

For a moment, in the war, liquid depths, Lois closed her eyes.

Heard her heart hammer in her chest.

The adrenaline faded.

The pain returned.

Redoubled.

Too tired.

To swim.

No air to

Breathe.

Is this

the

end?